


i wanna be your left-hand man

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cunnilingus, Cute, F/M, Size Difference, Size Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Warcraft Kink Meme, fucking destroy me tbh, slowly ruins my cute genfic with smut a year later what up motherfuckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaina accidentally courts Garrosh Hellscream. Jaina wakes up to a legion of orcs outside Theramore's gates. Not necessarily in that order.</p><p>Written for the warcraft kink meme prompt: "Jaina/Garrosh, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Fucking Orcs"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after the comics and just before wrath, with some minor alterations that'll be mentioned below.

Jaina wakes up to a legion of orcs outside Theramore's gates. This is how it starts. It's not how Everything starts, but this is how It starts.

This is how everything starts: Thrall comes back from Outland, and when he does, the son of Grom Hellscream is trailing behind. Jaina had hardly believed that such a thing had happened- it was hard to believe that Grom could have been anyone's father with how much Thrall had to pick up after him- but she is still one of the first people he introduces to him.

  
Seeing him in the flesh, it's still hard to see the resemblance, Grom being relatively short and all wiry muscle, and Garrosh would very much be a mountain of an orc if Thrall didn't inch over him just barely. He's quiet and moody, and abrasive when he speaks, which is hardly at all, even when Jaina prompts him with questions about him, about Nagrand and his life, and he gives nothing but terse, one-word answers, like it hurts him to give up anything at all. When he finally does talk, Jaina can finally see the resemblance between the two of them, voice similar but less raspy, more guarded, and while she's a bit irked by his brusque bluntness, she can at least chalk it up to him being wary.

She can understand that; Thrall hadn't learned much of him yet, but what he had learned of and had told her, the name Hellscream hung a heavy weight over him, left a shadow he couldn't quite get out from under. So she does her best to be friendly and open to him, at least for Thrall's sake, and he doesn't seem to know what to do in the face of this, not quite able to keep eye contact with her for long, awkwardly flicking his eyes away and speaking quieter and quieter when he does. Thrall is a bit too excited to notice it too much, but she does point it out to him later, Thrall coming back to her after speaking to Garrosh of it and explaining that he was nervous, nervous in particular about meeting her.

"Why?" she asks.

"I told him what you did for Grom," he replied. "I told him what you did for the Horde. He didn't really know what to expect, or how you would treat him. I don't think he expected to be treated with simple kindness at all."

She can understand that, she decides; a new place and new people who all decide they know how he is without even really meeting him. She would probably get snappy, too.

However, it's hard to be patient for long when their next meeting is him picking a fight with the newly reformed Varian Wrynn. Varian's not guiltless of this either, and to be fair he kind of started it, but it was still Garrosh who escalated it well past the point of it being appropriate, and still Garrosh who ultimately was the cause of all parties going home from the first day of peace talks frustrated and with no progress made.

So, this is how It starts:

Jaina wakes up to a legion of orcs outside Theramore's gates, and at the front of them is Garrosh Hellscream.

  
Just behind him, there's cart stacked high with strange, lumpy black and red shapes, unclear in the mist of the early morning, and soon he's talking to the guards at the bridge, who... let him pass, for some reason. He and the legion passes under the archway of the gate itself, and from her window in the mage tower, she can finally see that the shapes as they are: the heads of black drakes, still dripping with blood, she notes morbidly as a literal trail of blood forms behind the cart wherever it goes. Which is, apparently, the foot of the mage tower. Because apparently, there is no other place where it could possibly be.

There is a soft knocking at her chamber door, and Pained says in a manner that lives up to her namesake "My lady, the Son of Hellscream wishes to speak with you," because of course he does.

Still, she dresses quickly and rushes down the tower, and there he is, oddly sulky like he was put up to this, but the guilt becomes clear enough when he speaks.

"I had an idea of how to mend things over with Wrynn," he says in Orcish, half-snarling it with how much he hates to say it. But still, he says "I'm sorry," and can't meet her gaze, staring at the ground while she stares at him, baffled that this happened at all even while he's flicking his eyes between her and the ground, awaiting her response.

"We can work with this," she says after a moment, gears in her mind turning. He perks up slightly, not quite sulking so much, and this dissipates further when she continues with "We can definitely work with this. I really appreciate this, thank you." The sulkiness disappears completely, replaced with something strangely soft and unreadable, when she says "I forgive you, it's alright," and she's not sure if anyone had actually said this to him before, if this is the reaction it garners.

But yes, Garrosh brings Jaina literally dozens of decapitated heads of black dragons like an animal guiltily leaving the body parts of other animals on her back porch as some kind of thoughtful if gruesome apology, and Jaina, very much like someone who has found a little line of dead mice on her back porch left by the neighborhood cat, just accepts it with truly baffled disbelief as the cat continues to keep piling them up like it'll make up for it clawing the shit out of her furniture. It's an odd one, as far as these things go, but this is how it starts.

\---

Garrosh’s idea is a pretty good one, as it turns out. Even Varian is grudgingly impressed when, at the next day of peace talks, Garrosh brings it up as a means to patch things up between Orgrimmar and Stormwind. Of course, when they actually go through with it, there is the petty argument of who would get to keep the trophy, but surprisingly, it’s eventually decided that Theramore would be the one to keep Blackwing’s head, and surprisingly, it’s Garrosh again who suggests this, even though it looks like the thought of not having it on a pike in the center of Orgrimmar thoroughly pains him.

His reasoning is “You were the one who brought us together in the name of peace, you should be the one who keeps it,” gritted between his teeth and grimacing at everyone at the table. Varian has a similar expression but reluctantly agrees. Thrall of course is aglow with pride, and Jaina is almost completely certain that Garrosh did this at his behest, until Thrall says:

“No, he did that on his own; I thought I was going to have to break up another fight between him and Varian. I’m very proud of him.” His eyes are bright with happiness, unable to keep a grin off his face, and Jaina is completely stumped at why Garrosh would do this of his own accord when she and Thrall had to keep him and Varian from flying at each other across the table the first day of peace talks. Still, it’s a victory, and she’ll take them where she can, especially in matters such as this.

Of course, this nebulous truce is put to the test almost immediately, when the Twilight’s Hammer cult decide that it would be great idea to attack Theramore not three days after Blackwing’s head was put on display. It’s a simple enough task to hold them off, but fate is hilariously cruel, and it turns out that the specific assassin meant to kill them is none other than Garona Halforcen. Jaina had captured her without even realizing who it was until after they had dealt with the rest of their attackers, and Varian is staring at her through the bars of her enchanted cage and Garona is staring at the ground. Varian’s upset, Garona’s upset, and everyone’s about a step away from becoming a hot fucking mess.

“Alright, let’s just,” she begins, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “Take a step back from this, everyone.”

“You murdered father, in cold blood,” Varian snarls, shaking. He’s furious to be sure, but there’s a moment where his voice cracks and he just sounds hurt and there’s no chance that anyone missed it. His eyes are looking a little watery and Jaina abruptly remembers that until Varian was fourteen, Garona was an older sister.

“I didn’t want to,” Garona mumbles, voice raspy, and Varian lurches forward as if she’d struck him. “I was forced to,” she continues, and there it is, there’s the string of words that are going to make this infinitely more difficult than it needs to be.

So, several things are learned over the course of the next couple days:

One, Garona Halforcen assassinated Llane Wrynn, but did so only because she was mindcontrolled into doing so.

Two, there is no way to remove the mindcontrol spell without killing her or at the very least gravely injuring her, to which Varian has incoherent, highly conflicting opinions about.

Three, Varian, oddly enough, does not want her to die. Nobody has any idea of why this is, including Varian himself. Jaina thinks it might be for the sole purpose of making her life more difficult.

Four, possibly they could make the spell inert without having to remove it, if they kill the person who put it on her in the first place, and possibly, Jaina hopes to turn this into another way that the Horde and Alliance can settle their differences.

Five, there is a very slim chance of this happening, because the person who did this was fucking Gul’dan, and then whatever he did to alter Garona was warped even further by Cho’Gall, because why not.

Ultimately, they decide that it would probably still be a good idea to kill Cho’Gall anyway, and to deal with the Twilight’s Hammer before they succeeded with their whole “force the end of the world to happen” thing, and Jaina feels a distant concern about how many of these peace talks end with everyone agreeing that they need to kill people. Varian and Garrosh didn’t seem to want to kill each other anymore at least, so that was a plus. Progress is progress, even if that progress is getting them to agree on wanting the same person dead.

Garona still won’t look at anyone, presumably out of shame, and Varian still won’t stop looking at her like he’s about to cry. Thrall, to his credit, is keeping Anduin safe and entertained while his father is having difficulties, and Garrosh for some reason is lingering closer to her than to Thrall. He’s not actually near anyone in particular, giving her a good three feet of space, but he’s still standing closer to her than anyone else, Thrall having left with Anduin to tour Theramore, and Varian on the other side of the room with Garona, looking very much like he wants to give her a piece of his mind but also like he would very much like to curl up and cry, possibly on or around her.

Jaina rubs her temples. This was going to be difficult.

“This is a noble thing you’re doing, Proudmoore,” Garrosh says from behind her. She turns, and yes, he’s still giving her a pretty big bubble of personal space.

“Thank you,” she replies after a moment. “It’s not just me doing this, though; it’s all of us. I couldn’t have orchestrated this without everyone’s help.” Garrosh frowns a bit.

“You still were the one who started this,” he insists a bit offendedly. “No one else would have, just you.”

“…thank you,” she says again, more sincerely this time, and the frown fades from his face, for the most part. “You can just call me Jaina, so you know. You don’t have to call me ‘Proudmoore’ if it’s just us talking. Save the formalities for the conference table,” she continues, laughing. He makes an odd face at this.

“If you’re sure,” he agrees, tone unclear.

“Well, we are friends, right?” she tries, slightly concerned at how surprised he looks.

“Yes,” he confirms after a moment, seemingly more to himself than to her. “We are.” He seems pleased about this, at least, and when she smiles at him, his expression becomes unreadable, a strange warmth lingering in the lines of his face. Jaina blinks at this, and wonders a bit at how solitary a life he’s led if her just saying this warrants such affection. Perhaps she could help with this, as well.

\---

It’s a lot easier to take down the Twilight’s Hammer than it is to track them, as it turns out.

In the following months, both Horde and Alliance search high and low for their various lairs and hidey-holes, but apparently losing their top agent has scared them enough to send them back into hiding. There’s 3 separate attempts to try and retrieve Garona, and 2 other attempts to take control over her long-distance, but all of them fail, really only serving to give them more leads on where to look for their bases.

In the meantime, Jaina has taken it upon herself to keep the truce they have as strong and steady as she possibly can, because apparently it has become her job to keep everyone’s shit together. So, that means, besides getting Garrosh and Varian to play nice, getting everyone else to play nice as well. No one is particularly happy about this, but the general feeling overall is maybe it would be a good idea not to have a pissing contest over this particular patch of land when the end of the world was a thing that could actually happen. Just a thought.

Naturally, there are some difficulties when it comes to Garona, but the difficulties are surprising less about who gets to decide her fate, Alliance or Horde, and more about helping her and Varian resolve their differences. The first one would be infinitely easier, but it does help to have the High King in Theramore every few days, even if it is just to be the same room as Garona and not say a word to each other the entire time he’s there. It’s easier to facilitate more peace talks when he’s in the general area, and Orgrimmar isn’t that far away, especially not with mage portals.

It’s surprising that Thrall sends Garrosh every time, even if he can’t come himself, but perhaps Garrosh volunteered for this, given his previous behaviors. It’s hard to tell if he actually wants to be here, but truth be told, it’s hard to tell much of anything under his near-constant frown. Still, she appreciates him being here, and his attempts to help, even if the thought of playing nice with Varian looks like it greatly pains him. Spending time with him afterwards is a nice bonus, too. The first time was a surprise albeit a pleasant one, but soon she came to look forward to chatting with him after their discussions with the others about the possible apocalypse.

Inevitably, he asks about his father, and she tells him this, after thinking about it for a moment or two:

“Grom was,” she starts. “Grom wasn’t as bad as people say he is, but he wasn’t as good, either. He was just somebody trying to get by, same as the rest of us.” Garrosh quirks an eyebrow at her quizzically.

“Same as the rest of you?” he asks.

“Well, none of us were really here because we wanted to be; there were other orcs there who drank the blood, there were the Bloodhoof trying not to get murdered by centaur, and the Darkspear who were trying not to get murdered by naga and Kul Tiras sailors.”

“What,” Garrosh says.

Jaina says, “Thrall and I didn’t ally together because we wanted to, at first, and not everyone was happy with our decision to keep that alliance,” and she can’t quite look at him. He nods solemnly.

They sit together quietly in her parlor for some time, watching the sea in the distance, and sometime later, Garrosh asks, “What was he really like, though?”

“Who, Grom? He was a jackass.” Garrosh’s head snaps around so quickly she’s convinced it’s going to twist right off, and he looks torn between laughing at her and being offended at her.

“No, let me explain,” she continues, laughing. “He was a jackass, but he was a fun one. He caused a lot of trouble, but he was outgoing enough that he nearly always managed to get out of it. He liked pushing people’s buttons, especially Thrall’s, but he wasn’t so obnoxious that he didn’t know when to stop. Usually, anyway.” Garrosh looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this, staring down at the city below with a troubled expression. Jaina reaches for his hand, placing her own on top of it and hoping to comfort him.

“At the end of the day,” she starts after a moment when he looks up at her. “Your father wasn’t exactly a good man, but he wasn’t a bad one either. I’m glad to have known him, to be sure, even if it was for a short amount of time.” Garrosh doesn’t say anything to this.

“He did what he could,” Jaina says after another moment. “And that’s what counts.”

When he leaves, a little while later, he says, “Thank you.”

\---

They finally manage to track down the base of the Twilight’s Hammer cult, and this is how it goes:

They’re holed out in Silithus, in An’Qiraj to be exact, and exactly no one is happy to be there, because it’s fucking Silithus. No one is ever happy to be in Silithus, period, the end, and if they are, well, that just means it’s time to check if they’re infested.

It’s a less than pleasant experience for everyone involved, but it manages to go off without a hitch for the most part. Everyone ends up covered in bug guts, but they couldn’t exactly “carpet bomb the shit out of it,” like Gazlowe wanted to do, because apparently, joy of joys, Garona has a kid. Apparently, said kid didn’t take too kindly to his mama getting mind-controlled (understandably so), and took it upon himself to solve the problem. Solving the problem included going to An’Qiraj, by himself, and attempting to take out Cho’Gall, by himself. Honestly, Jaina does understand where he’s coming from but she’s also frustrated at him because “carpet bombing the shit out of it” would’ve been the better option here, and they can’t exactly do that if they’re looking for him.

Still, it’s not too difficult to light them all on fire, even if it is on a smaller scale. There are a few moments where she can’t, because some of the bugs have learned how to block out magic, but lucky for her, that doesn’t stop them from beings bugs, and therefore doesn’t stop them from having fragile exoskeletons. Long story short, Jaina rips the wings off of one of them and bashes it to death with her staff, and ends up splashed with ichor and chitin pieces.

To be fair, it’s been a long day.

“Jaina, are you alright?” Thrall asks once he’s done dealing with his own insect-related troubles. He trots over, Garrosh following behind him, and eyes the carnage a little disgustedly.

“I’m fine,” she replies a bit mechanically. She is, it’s just that this is the fifth one in a row that she’s had to do this to, because they’ve figured out that she can’t cast firestorms on them if they keep interrupting her. Garrosh stares in disbelief at her hands, and she realizes she’s still holding its twitching body, whoops. She drops it promptly and gives it one final courtesy smash with her staff. It splatters all over the ground, and Jaina is going to take a month’s worth of showers the instant she’s able to, because that image is never going to leave her memory.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” she prompts a bit awkwardly. Thrall nods, as eager to get through this as she is, but Garrosh won’t stop giving her this weird look. Actually, he can’t seem to stop looking at her, full stop, except when she glances his way and he hastily turns away and tries to play it off like he wasn’t looking in the first place. It’s a bit odd, though she supposes that he’s never seen her in combat before, and probably wasn’t expecting a mage willing to get their hands dirty when magic isn’t an option. Then again, most mages probably didn’t grow up exclusively around sailors and military men. Still, he can just ask her about it; he doesn’t have to sneak around like he’s afraid of getting caught.

She does feel a bit smug, however, when she (completely by accident, mind) rips the head off of a scarab trying to eat her head, and Garrosh looks both a bit impressed and a bit intimidated, simultaneously. It’s a nice little confidence boost, to say the least.

Eventually, they get to the chamber at the very bottom of the hive, when Cho’Gall predictably is trying to summon an old god. Also predictably, Med’an is there, trying to stop him, and they walk in just in time for Cho’Gall to be in the middle of choking him. Varian goes apeshit, because child of estranged pseudo-siblings or not, Med’an is still a child, and Varian’s still got this kneejerk violent rage in reaction to anyone hurting a child. Thankfully, it’s an advantage this time around and not a liability, because Cho’Gall wasn’t exactly expecting Varian to come down on him like the devil coming to collect a debt, and the rest of them are able to clear the room while Varian does his Lo’gosh thing. Also, she and Garrosh cover his sorry ass while he does it, because Varian still had to sprint across the room to fling himself at Cho’Gall and ignored everyone else, including the audience of cultists and qiraji. Thrall and Tyrande, thankfully, are more than enough to lead the Horde and Alliance forces there while they cover Varian.

This is how the rest goes:

They stop the ritual, they kill Cho’Gall, and then, once they’ve cleared everyone out and gotten Med’an well out of harm’s way, then they carpet bomb it. For good measure.

Jaina goes home and burns the clothes she was wearing. She then bathes for a solid three hours, also for good measure. So does everyone else, or so she’s heard, though Garrosh still looks at her funny the next time they meet, like he’s still a bit impressed and a bit intimidated. She doesn’t mind.

\---

So, what happens next is that they decide what happens to Garona.

What they learned from killing Cho’Gall is that while yes, killing him did make the mindcontrol spell inert, apparently what that means afterwards is that just about anybody with the arcane know-how can just pick it right back up again. Obviously, no one is happy about this, especially Varian. Garona of course is the least happy about this, but that just goes without saying.

Varian is keen to take her back to Stormwind, but keeps evading questions as to why, especially since, as Garrosh so helpfully pointed out, Stormwind’s citizens will only be happy with her being there, “if it’s for her execution.” Varian frowns a bit at this (pouts, more accurately), and while he doesn’t deny this, he still fights any sort of option for her to go to Orgrimmar instead. He might have said a few choice words of how the Horde just wanted her back for espionage, and to date this is the quickest she’s ever seen Thrall get angry, not counting anything Grom Hellscream had done.

Thrall starts to snarl something at him, but Jaina is quick to cut him off, because if Thrall is allowed to get worked up, he will never come back down and honestly, she doesn’t need to break up another fight.

“Garona can stay with me,” she suggests, trying to be loud enough to be heard over Thrall but still try to keep her tone neutral. Thrall and Varian both look at her, Thrall still on the cusp of tearing Varian a new asshole, and Varian looking agitated and evasive.

“Garona can stay in Theramore,” she says again quickly, mind working and trying to spit out words as fast as she can. “I can’t remove the mindcontrol spell but I can switch the reins over to me, at least, and that will ensure that no one will ever use her against her will. I’m probably the most knowledgeable about magic here, anyway, and I don’t have anything to gain politically or militarily from keeping her here.” There’s a moment of silence, followed by grudging murmurs of consent, and Jaina takes that moment to be supremely thankful of her apparently pristine reputation.

Of course, no one is surprised about this more than Garona, who had expected an execution. She’s surprised further that being Jaina’s bodyguard was the actual option.

“Well I can’t very well keep an eye on you if you’re locked up in a jail cell somewhere,” Jaina says at Garona’s raised eyebrows. “So, you’re going to stay with me so I can.” She doesn’t say that she wasn’t given any limitations in regards to keeping her in Theramore, and therefore could decide her fate as she saw fit. Garona certainly doesn’t mind not being in a cage anymore, and doesn’t mind getting her own quarters, enough room for both her and her son, either. The visiting ambassadors and dignitaries don’t exactly approve of this, but the good news about this is that Garona apparently terrifies them too much for them to complain. Pained enjoys her company at any rate, strangely enough. The point is, Garona becomes a permanent fixture in Jaina’s life, whether anyone else likes it or not.

\---

Inevitably, Garrosh asks the dreaded, awful question:

“Are you and Thrall together?”

Now when he asks this, Jaina has to try very hard not to snap back with “if I had a coin for every time someone asked me that or suspected me of that I’d be a fucking trade princess,” because although this is true, Garrosh probably just didn’t know. It’s not his fault, if that’s the case. So she says, calmly:

“No. Why do you ask?” He falters a bit, clearly embarrassed that he had asked in the first place, but he answers, all the same.

“I asked Thrall and he said ‘no,’ but then he became evasive with anything else that I asked him. So, I wanted to ask you to make sure.”

“Why would you think that we were together?” Jaina asks, trying to keep her irritation down to a minimum.

“You have proven your ability to work together to survive, and on the battlefield,” he explains. “You work together very well, from what I’ve heard, and it’s very odd to have that level of compatibility and not be mated.” Jaina blinks. That’s not the answer she’d been expecting.

“Is that the orcish perspective?” she asks curiously. He nods. “And here I thought, it was merely because that we were a man and a woman who just happened to be close friends,” she continues, laughing angrily. Garrosh’s face scrunches up.

“Is that the human perspective?” he sneers. She nods, sighing through her nose. He makes a disgusted noise. Jaina absolutely agrees.

“But no, Thrall and I are not together. I’m not going to deny that I’ve thought about it, but being sexually attracted is not the same as romantically attracted, and neither of us were romantically attracted, so…” she explains.

“Why did he get so evasive, then, I wonder,” Garrosh ponders aloud. Jaina shrugs, knowing fully well that Thrall was actually with Vol’jin, and neither of them wanted to publically announce it just yet.

“He probably just got embarrassed,” she suggests, a perfectly reasonable lie. “We get asked that a lot; he probably just wasn’t expecting it from you since you haven’t been here for that long.” Garrosh nods, humming thoughtfully. Thankfully, they get off the subject, but now Garona and Pained side-eye him whenever he comes by to visit. Honestly, she wishes they would just forget about it; she’s already gotten over it, and again, it was just a matter of him not knowing. She’s heard worse.

\---

So, life goes on.

With the Cult of the Twilight’s Hammer taken care of, they can all breathe a little easier, knowing that they won’t have to worry about them anymore. With their recent examples of teamwork under her belt, Jaina is more than ready to push for some more peace treaties, perhaps even trade agreements, between the Alliance and Horde. The situation with Ashenvale is tricky, but after fighting alongside the horde once more, Tyrande actually gains some modicum of respect for its people once again, and is more willing to work something out than the last they spoke of this.

This is what is agreed upon: In exchange for allowing Orgrimmar to use a designated section of land as means for lumber (under the stipulation that they absolutely had to replant a tree for every one they cut down), the Horde would provide stronger and better-quality ores and metals. Durotar was apparently ripe with copper and iron, something that the night elves severely lacked, at least in good quality, and with it being so close by, it was easier to get it through Orgrimmar than to get it through Ironforge, their other option.

Whatever the case is, Garrosh is apparently so grateful that Jaina facilitated this that he invites her to come with him back to Nagrand and show her around. Insatiably curious, she accepts with great enthusiasm, eager to learn more about the mag’har. She doesn’t think Garrosh was expecting that excited a response, because his eyes go wide with surprise and oddly enough, his face flushing. She dials it down a bit, guilty that she apparently embarrassed him.

It does take some convincing on her part to get Garona and Pained to stay in Theramore while she went with him for a couple days, but she needs them to keep an eye on the home front while she’s in Outland.

“No, I need to keep an eye on _you_ ,” Garona asserts, using the tone of voice she typically uses on Med’an when he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. For someone who hasn’t seen their kid in about a decade, she adjusted to being his parent awfully fucking fast, and Jaina resents it a little bit if only because that tone of voice is really, really effective.

“It’s only going to be a few days, and it’s not as if I’ll be by myself,” Jaina asserts. Garona and Pained share a look that Jaina isn’t sure that she appreciates. Aegwinn cackles, because of course she does.

“It’s going to be fine,” she says stubbornly. Pained sighs, loudly, but they relent.

So, they get to Outland, the two of them taking a portal to Shattrath, and they start the journey back to Nagrand. She would’ve popped them right outside of Garadar if she could, but she’s never been there before, for one, and can’t even teleport herself there. She’s never teleported to any part of Outland before, and attempting to do so would be dangerous because of this inexperience. Secondly, Garrosh wanted them to take the long way back so that he could show her around Nagrand, and by proxy, how the mag’har actually lived.

She meets him just outside of Orgrimmar, first thing in the morning, and the first thing he says upon seeing her mounted up on a horse, is “Are you sure that thing won’t get scared of Malak?”

Malak, of course, is his worg, and an enormous one at that, though it would have to be, to be able to carry the combined weight of Garrosh and his gear. The coal-furred creature eyes up Jaina’s horse curiously, her tail raising in attention and with the sort of gaze that implies that she’s debating on whether or not she can eat what she’s looking at. Her horse, Andromeda, huffs in a thoroughly unimpressed manner.

“I’ve chased down Burning Legion on this horse. She doesn’t scare easy,” Jaina replies with a wry grin, petting Andromeda’s blonde mane. Garrosh relents, nodding.

When they finally get through the portal and on their way, it’s quiet at first, and admittedly a bit awkward, particularly when the knowledge that this is the first time that she’s spent any significant amount of time with him outside of battle and by themselves, no less, begins to sink in. They really only start talking when they reach the edge of Shattrath and the entrance to Terokkar forest proper.

“I’ve never actually been to Shattrath,” Jaina admits quietly. “I knew that the city’s seen better days, but I didn’t know that it was in such… disrepair.” Garrosh nods. There’s not anything particularly sad about it; he just nods, matter-of-factly.

“It’s been this way as far back as I remember,” he says. “I haven’t been here too many times, but it hasn’t changed much.”

“I don’t suppose there’s much that can be done about it,” she muses a bit forlornly. He shrugs.

“People get by,” he replies. “It’s just something you learn to live with.”

“I suppose so,” she allows, and feels rather spoiled indeed for having the sort of upbringing she did.

They’re quiet again for some time more, but before long, they start talking- she’s not really sure what even prompts the conversation, but they talk, and continue to do so for some time, right up until they make camp for the night. It’s just her asking questions, at first; about him, about Garadar and the like, but soon he warms up and becomes curious as well, and soon she’s come to a point where she’s telling him about her discovering her affinity for arcane magic and she’s not really sure how she got there. Though, he does seem to find it entertaining that when she’s seven years old she managed to accidentally teleport herself on top of the bookshelf, and then on the same day, the roof of the house.

Time starts to pass a little quicker, then, and before she knows it, they’re already setting up camp for the night. Jaina doesn’t realize how tired she is until she actually lies down, when it seems like she blinks, then suddenly the sun’s already up. It takes them another two days to cross over into Nagrand, treading cautiously around the mountain range the forest covers and trying to keep to the flatlands. Garrosh apparently knows from experience that there’s next to no air up there, and that it’s a little too dangerous for something that’s just supposed to be a visit. Jaina is a little curious as to how he knows this from experience, but she leaves it be.

Nagrand is- Nagrand is unlike anything she’s ever seen, and it must show on her face for how smug Garrosh looks when he sees it. It very nearly warrants her pushing him off his mount, but she’s the bigger person here, she won’t act on such immature urges.

Alright, well maybe a little. Not enough for him to fall, anyway.

She does have to admit, it is beautiful for all its seeming about to break apart any second, though she supposes all of Outland is like that. The lack of trees makes it a much faster travel time, though what few trees she does see are enormous and lusciously green, their thick roots keeping them tethered to the earth and seemingly keeping the earth itself together through sheer willpower alone. Things have calmed significantly since Illidan and his ilk had been deposed, but Garrosh is still wary when they set up camp that night of any marauders or scavengers passing through, whether it be demons, the broken, or even other orcs. Food apparently went scarce fairly often, growing up the way he did.

“It’s difficult to farm when every other day someone tries to steal it or burn it down,” Garrosh remarked flatly as he was lighting the fire for dinner. “Or when someone tries to steal from your water supply.” Clean water from what she understood was also very difficult to come by for a very long time, and still continued to be though not quite as much now that a fair amount of the demons had been dealt with. She’s honestly surprised that Garrosh grew to be as big as he did, given the circumstances of his childhood; red pox, first of all, for several years, and then the land dying all around them before finally breaking apart. (There was an entire other continent that they knew of on the planet before it shattered; she can only imagine what else could have been out there before it drifted off into the nether.) Honestly, it was a miracle that he even lived, let alone grow up to be the damn-near perfect example of orcish physique that he is now.

That was a mystery in itself, she noted- she’d known Grom, very briefly, but she’d known him, and he was very short and very wiry as far as orcs went, and Garrosh is a fucking mountain of a man in comparison to him. Was it from his mother, perhaps? It had to be. Actually, now that she thought about it, his mother was probably the main contributor, considering that the only real thing he had in common with his father as far as looks went was that their jawlines were more or less mirror images of each other. Other than that, there didn’t seem to be much else: Grom was gaunt with red eyes, and Garrosh has strong, high cheekbones and piercing golden eyes. Granted, red probably wasn’t Grom’s original eye color, but Grom constantly seemed to have a glint of mischief, one that Garrosh replaced with a fierce stoicism. That was what appeared to the untrained eye, anyway; she’s gotten to know him long enough that she could usually pick out what he was actually feeling. Most of the time, anyway.

They eat their dinner and put the fire out, but neither of them fall asleep; Jaina had become used to the soft shade that the Terokkar forest provided, and now that they were under open sky, it was too bright for her to fall asleep immediately. The stars seemed closer here, seemed brighter, glittering in a night sky streaked with vivid colors as Outland’s two moons continued to steadfastly orbit what remained of the planet. She felt rather small, cradled by the earth beneath her and the tall grasses around their camp. Not insignificant; just small, held in awe of this foreign beauty, this unknown universe.

“Can’t sleep?” comes Garrosh’s voice from across where the fire pit was.

“No, not really,” she admits. “The stars are keeping me awake. They’re so bright,” she explains, laughing. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

There’s an awkward pause before Garrosh mumbles, “If you like, I can tell you what I know about them.”

“Really?” she asks hopefully, turning on her side to face him. He nods, eyes reflecting the smoldering coals remaining in the fire pit.

The next couple hours are spent by Garrosh pointing out the various stars and constellations. Jaina had originally started on the other side of the campfire, but ended up moving to Garrosh’s side of it so that she could actually see where he was pointing. A lot of them are great beasts, hunters, and warriors, which she expected, but there’s also quite a few that she didn’t expect; a massive sea serpent that was believed to keep the world together, something similar to a lyre belonging to a bard who called their mate up from the spirit realm, two crows flying together that were thought and memory manifest, and a tree that grew golden apples that restored one’s strength and youth. She wasn’t aware that orcs had such rich folklore, and wonders how much was lost in their mad dash to Azeroth, in the subsequent years of doing little but rotting away in internment camps. At some point, the coals finally go out and they huddle closer together for warmth, she pressed along the side of his body and using his chest as a pillow. Garrosh is still pointing out stars, but it’s slower now, more sluggish, the both of them finally falling asleep. It isn’t until that Jaina is a breath away from drifting off that it occurs to her that this might possibly be a date.

\---

The following morning, Jaina puts a little more thought into this theory. They eat and pack up relatively quickly, Garrosh strangely more energetic than he had been the previous couple days. He seems to be in a good mood, which was odd; she enjoyed being friends with him, but she couldn’t deny that he was kind of a moody dick even at the best of times, so seeing him this… enthused… was very bizarre indeed. Was it because of last night, perhaps?

But it also could be that they were supposed to reach Garadar today, or so he told her, the corners of his mouth perked up in a crooked but warm smile while he packed, his eyes practically fucking _twinkling_ with happiness. Maybe he was just happy to be home for the first time in months. Maybe she’s just overthinking this. But she cannot deny that there’s this easiness between them that wasn’t there before, a certain comfort in the other’s presence, and while she could probably chalk this up to the fact that this is the longest amount of time she’s spent with him so it was natural for them to get used to each other eventually, the last bits of the lingering awkwardness that had appeared when the trip first began finally dissipated since last night. She shakes herself out of it. She shouldn’t be getting herself worked up like this.

When they finally reach Garadar around midday, however, her suspicion immediately comes rushing back, as the first thing that Garrosh does upon them getting there, is introduce her to Greatmother Geyah. Now normally she wouldn’t think anything of this, seeing as Geyah is the village elder and therefore leader, but the way he introduces her- a little awkward and unsure, sheepish like he’s looking for her approval- and the way that Geyah looks at her appraisingly, makes her question what Garrosh’s intentions were exactly with bringing her here.

Also, in general, the looks they were getting immediately upon arriving probably didn’t help. Though, she might not be behaving fairly about this; most of the looks they garnered were ones of wary suspicion, and she can’t honestly say if it’s because of what she suspected, or if she was a human, or even if there was still some lingering distrust and disgust with Garrosh that’s just going unsaid. There was too little that she knew for her to really make any sort of conclusion at this point, anyway.

Of course, this is all turned on its head, again, when she actually talks to Geyah. Specifically, when she says, “I didn’t expect Garrosh to be the one to bring you here.”

There’s nothing mean behind it, she’s relatively certain; Geyah was too straight-forward for it to be anything else but sincere. But it still begs the question:

“…Really?” Jaina asks in a manner that she hopes is innocuous. Geyah nods.

“I thought it would be my grandson,” she replies, which honestly does not help Jaina’s suspicion in any way, shape, or form. “He told me of you when he visited last. He said he wanted to show you this place, when times were more peaceful in your world.”

“Well. I can understand how that got way-laid,” Jaina remarks, laughing a bit at her own expense. Geyah smiles wryly.

“Indeed,” she says, eyes flicking towards Garrosh. Garrosh, who’s looking quite a bit more like his usual grumpy self.

They speak a bit more, but it’s clear that Garrosh’s good mood has gone sour, so they don’t stay too much longer before resuming their excursion around the area. The plan was to take her over to the Pillars of Fate, first, on the edge of the village, but they vote to go to the Throne of the Elements, instead. It takes a bit to walk there, but getting away from the central hub of Garadar seems to help cool his temper a bit, even if there’s still some lingering storm clouds over his head.

They don’t talk again until they get there, and it’s still Jaina who starts first, prompting him with, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps, it bursting out of him barely after Jaina’s finished her sentence. She raises an eyebrow at him. So, he’s clearly been stuck on something.

“Are you? It seemed like what the Greatmother said really bothered you,” she points out, not meanly, just concerned.

“She didn’t mean anything by what she said,” he grumbles. Jaina pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully.

“What would she have meant?” Jaina asks a bit shrewdly. He doesn’t reply, apart from sighing angrily through his nose.

“Garrosh,” she tries, calmly. “Are you implying that she thought that Thrall would’ve brought me here with intentions other than purely friendship?”

“No, of course not,” he answers, still snarly. “Thrall would have only ever brought you here because you were his friend and nothing else. She knows that.”

“Then why does this bother you?” she prompts again. There’s more grumbling, but he does grudgingly reply with:

“Because I didn’t want her to make you uncomfortable.” Jaina thinks for another moment.

“Is this a date?” she inquires plainly, electing to grab the bull by the horns.

“A what?” he questions. She cringes slightly, but tries to power through it.

“It’s when people set aside time to spend with each other with deliberately romantic intentions,” she explains awkwardly, feeling her face heat up under Garrosh’s inquisitive gaze. “I understand that it’s… mostly a human practice.”

Garrosh doesn’t respond to this immediately, and this is about when Jaina very much would like to sink into the earth beneath their feet and never return because holy fucking shit, she definitely fucked this up. Of course he just brought her here as friends, how could she even think that it would’ve been anything else?

Then she realizes exactly why she thought that, oh, whoops, way to be self-aware at the very last second, Jaina.

Then, the moment passes, and Garrosh just nods, matter-of-factly like it was obvious. Oh. Way to be completely unaware, apparently.

Jaina says, “Oh,” barely audible and with her ears burning, and it takes Garrosh looking at her quizzically before she adds, “I wish you had told me before.” He squints at her.

“I thought it was obvious,” he points out. Looking back, yeah it kind of was, also, the earth can totally swallow her up any second now, just saying.

“I didn’t want to assume,” she replies a little defensively, and she is absolutely, mortifyingly sure that her ears are bright red now, for all their burning. “I don’t really have the most sterling reputation on this front.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not talking about Thrall,” she snaps irritably. “I’m talking about how the last two people that had feelings for me abruptly turned into actual, literal tyrants.” Garrosh doesn’t quite look like he wants to believe her, which honestly she can’t really blame her there, despite how hilariously, cruelly true it is.

“How much do you know about Arthas Menethil?” she starts, and by the way he cringes, well. He must at least know one thing or another.

It takes some time to explain Arthas, and Kael’thas, and how each of them came to be where they are now, and after that, the sort of rumors that circulated around her because of them and because of Thrall, plus admittedly quite a bit of her own insecurities. She’s not exactly wrong in being wary, she’s relatively sure; every one of her previous experiences dictates that she’s not.

“So, you can understand why I wasn’t inclined to assume that anyone would take a chance on me,” she explains. He nods.

He still says, “I want to try.”

Face still too warm, she asks, “Are you sure?” He nods again. “Why?”

“I don’t have any reason not to,” he starts, and he realizes quickly that this might not have been the best choice of words when she squints at him. “We work really well together,” he explains. “We cooperate really well, and complement each other’s strengths. And,”

He doesn’t continue immediately, words stuck under his tongue, but he somehow manages to say, “Because you took a chance on me, when you decided to look past what my father had done and become my friend regardless,” admitted grudgingly, embarrassedly, but no less honestly. There’s one last thing, half-mumbled under his breath: “And because I’ve become… rather fond of you.” The tone of his voice implies that he’s trying to heavily downplay that, but it’s not really doing much to obscure it. And Jaina- Jaina doesn’t really know how to approach this.

This is how it starts, truly:

The longest few moments of tense, awkward silence Jaina has ever experienced, followed by her breaking it with the word, “Alright.”

“Alright,” she says, heart lodged in her throat, despite how she swallows around it. “You know what, alright. I want this, you want this, and I’m tired of getting pushed around by people who don’t know what they want. You do- you know what you want. You won’t push me around.” He just watches with rapt attention, waiting for her to finish.

“I want this,” she asserts. “I want you,” she continues, a little too close to home judging by how she immediately regrets admitting such a thing until his eyes light up.

She says: “I’ve… become fond of you, too.” This is how it starts. A little awkward, a little unsure, but it’s honest, at least; as good a start as any. She likes to think so, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN I KNOW IT'S BEEN A YEAR OK I KNOW BUT LISTEN,, LIST EN, GETTING DISTRACTED BY JOB SEARCHES AND OVERWATCH IS A HELL OF A THING

So here’s the thing: neither of them are really all that experienced on this matter. Or rather, they are, but on entirely different subjects than the other, and they find this out rather quickly when they get right down to it.

They’ve been together a couple months, now, so it’s plenty comfortable between them, but they had put off certain aspects of the relationship for multiple reasons; it was rather difficult, still, to find the time to spend together, given their positions, and to be honest, it seemed that both of them, despite finding the other attractive (attractive enough that occasionally they would return later than intended to meetings, hair and clothing mussed even if it hadn’t technically come off), the two of them were a bit anxious about some of the more physical dynamics to this. Put frankly, Garrosh is very nearly twice her size, with all the proportions that follow.

So now, faced with the threshold of it, now that they’ve managed to square away enough time for them to do this and she’s looking down on him perched atop his waist in a tent somewhere in the Barrens, it’s suddenly all that more intimidating, and they hesitate.

It’s not as if they don’t want this- Jaina’s still got a familiar curl of warmth in the cradle of her hips, and she can certainly feel Garrosh’s hardness under her, their clothing barely constituting as a barrier between them. It’s just that, in all honestly, they didn’t really talk about the actual practicality of this and how they would go about it. Garrosh looks a little spooked, though she’s probably not much different, to be fair, so she asks him, “Do you want to slow down for a minute?”

“If you want,” he replies, a bit withdrawn, clearly not wanting any sort of weakness to slip through.

 “Maybe we should actually talk about this,” she suggests.

“What about?” he asks, grumbling only a little bit.

“Well, I’ve only been with one other man besides you, and given that you’re an orc and I’m literally sitting on it, I’m almost certain that yours is twice as thick as his was,” she explains bluntly. Garrosh at least attempts to look concerned, but the smugness kind of ruins it. “Don’t let it go to your head; we’re comparing apples and oranges here,” she continues, a wry smirk forming on her face.

“The point is, I’m pretty certain that a bit more preparation needs to go into this,” she finishes.

“Well, yes. Obviously,” he replies. Jaina snorts in a much less dignified manner than she’d like to admit.

“Obviously,” she parrots back, Garrosh grinning at her.

“So what do you suggest?” he asks, starting to slowly run his palms up her thighs, skirt hiked up around her hips. His hands would probably engulf them were Jaina a smaller woman, but she’s never really been thin or slight; her build might be liable to rapid change, thanks to the sort of metabolism one acquires with the use of the arcane, but she’s never been slender. Garrosh doesn’t seem to mind this though, large fingers wrapping around the thickness of her thighs, thumbs resting just close enough to the budding heat centered there to get her attention. His eyes go half-lidded, and he traces the pad of his thumb up her inner thigh and across, brushing ever so slightly over the bundle of nerves just underneath the cloth there.

“I think even your fingers might be too much to start with,” she admits, a little bit breathier than she intends. The corners of his mouth quirk up, grip tightening around her thighs.

“I have an idea,” he says, half-smirk growing. Jaina swallows wetly, here’s a faraway sort of anticipation that accompanies it, even more so when he slips the same thumb under the delicate fabric separating the contact of skin and pressing it to the soft hood of pink skin covering that bud. It sends a quick little jolt through her, more eagerness than anything else, but it’s still enough for him to gain her undivided attention.

“Come move up here,” he says, gently tugging her forward.

Well. If he didn’t have her attention before, he certainly does now.

She complies, hastily rearranging herself so that she’s perched over his collarbone and her thighs are on either side of his head, Garrosh looking up at her from between them. She has to admit, it’s a very pleasant sight. He starts pulling her down, a little insistently, yellow eyes glinting in the dim light, and a curious sort of heat trickles down the back of her neck. She comes to rest on his jaw, and his lips are soft on hers, even through the thin fabric of her panties. His tusks poke into the plushness of her inner thighs, barely hinting at their sharpness, and their contact with her skin isn’t really something she can ignore, oddly enough, every movement Garrosh makes a constant reminder of their presence. She thinks she’d be hyperaware of them regardless, heart thudding faster at the thought of them being so close. She should probably examine this thought further, in all honesty, but it’s hard to keep concentrating on this when he presses his tongue to her lips through the fabric, and Jaina remembers abruptly that he’s large enough to engulf her in every aspect.

He laves with broad strokes, his mouth a moist heat and the dampness of his tongue slowly seeping through the fabric, an increasingly maddening barrier between them. He teases at her clit mercilessly before running the tip of his tongue down the seam of her cunt and to its entrance, teasing there, too, before all too soon tracing back up. It’s not too long before her panties are soaked through, from both his saliva and her own wetness, and she’s squirming under his grip.

“Garrosh,” she pleads, a little too proud to actually ask further. He flicks his eyes up towards hers, unimpressed, before giving her a particularly forceful lick up the seam of her cunt and circling her clit through the very nearly soaked fabric. Jaina stutters, the little jolts shooting through her body from the touch- just enough to arouse but not enough to satisfy, and only serving to make her more and more sensitive to his ministrations.

“Garrosh, _please_ ,” she asks, just short of begging and just shy of breathless. She can feel him grin against her, a laugh on his breath, but he complies, hooking a thumb around the abused strip of fabric blocking him off and carefully moving it aside. Apparently, it had been blocking more than just his tongue, the now-searing heat of his mouth and the hint of teeth pressing against the soft, pink folds enough to make her gasp, a little bit. He gets right back to work, tongue delving the pink folds and a finger shyly tracing the rim of her entrance. He’s not shy for too long; he presses it in carefully, wary of his nails. He’d trimmed them, she’d noticed, probably in preparation for this. So she hadn’t been the only one who’d been nervous about this, at least. That nervousness is all but gone, now, gone in the wake of Garrosh’s newfound confidence.

(Also, truthfully, she’d acquired some practice with toys prior to this, to try and work up to his size. She succeeded. The toys would be a surprise for another time.)

He works his finger in and out slowly building up speed, the thickness of one that of two of a human’s, and this alongside his tongue circling her clit, the slick, wet sounds of both, has her sliding closer and closer to her completion. Heat coils at the base of her spine, in her belly, throbbing between her legs, but she can’t quite seem to get there, straddling the line a touch too long and trembling beneath his grasp. Garrosh removes his finger and she feels like she’s dying, all want and emptiness. A whine escapes her throat, slapping a hand over mouth a beat too late, but despite the embarrassment flushing her face red, Garrosh’s eyes go dark with hunger and a growl rumbles through his chest, the vibrations torturous and another whine stuttering out of her.

The finger returns, this time with another alongside it, the stretch of this new intrusion and her body clenching around them enough to send her skidding right back to the edge. She inhales sharply, pulse throbbing in time with his fingers’ gaining speed, but she doesn’t linger too long before climax grips her body, shuddering. Garrosh doesn’t stop until she yelps out for him to, the sensation of it becoming too much.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice scraped up raw and rough from the bottom of his throat. His eyes are still clouded over with lust but his concern is sincere enough.

“Yes,” Jaina confirms a little shakily. “It was just getting to be a little bit too much; I’m alright. Just need a moment.” She backs up a bit, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead before touching hers to it, affection tugging at the corners of her lips. She takes the time to remove the panties that are now thoroughly in need of a wash, and drapes herself over his chest. She presses another kiss to his lips, tasting herself on him and desire once again trickling through her. It’s an easy, languid sort of thing this time around, legs still trembling and body pleasantly warm. She runs her tongue over his bottom lip, asking permission, and Garrosh complies, mouth opening. His lips are plush and wet, the inside of his mouth saturated with her taste. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, hands wandering along the sides of his body before coming to rest on his chest. She proceeds to knead the flesh there under her hands, scooting back a little further until her cunt is pressed against the length of his dick. Garrosh hisses out a gasp, locking his hands around her waist when she starts grinding against him.

“You know,” she starts, a wry little half-smile forming on her face. “I could probably take you now, if you like.” She can feel him twitch beneath her as she says this.

“If you’re certain,” he replies, concerned enough despite his hooded eyes, his fingers digging in just shy of too harsh. She positions herself above him, carefully lowering herself while he holds himself in place. The head is. Larger than expected, to say the least; the fattest part of it catches on the rim and sticks for a moment too long before finally giving way all at once, knocking the breath out of her and a hiss out of Garrosh. She sits about halfway down, and it’s already a far larger stretch than his fingers were before, pulled taut around the pulsing heat of his cock. She’s- she’s not even sure if she can fit all of him.

“Are you alright?” Garrosh rasps, sounding like he’s been gutted.

“Yes, just- just give me a moment to adjust,” she replies, just as breathless. It’s increasingly difficult to resist pushing down to the hilt, pulse fluttering as she clenches around him, still slick from before, but she forces herself to go slowly, if only for Garrosh’s tortured expression.

“Amosh’e,” he mumbles, the words slipping out of him as she sinks lower and lower. There’s more but she can’t quite hear him over the rush of her own blood through her body as she finally bottoms out and feels the press of him on all sides. She’s never felt quite so _full_ before, acutely aware of him pushing against every nerve ending there, a flame lit in the cradle of her hips. Garrosh has gotten himself mostly under control, stopping his mouth up with a fist to stop his near-reverent mumbling and the growling interspersed between. His other hand wanders her body, trembling as his fingers run over her flushed form, chomping at the bit of his restraint as his touch becomes rougher and rougher.

Jaina lifts herself up slowly, mourning and marveling at the hollowness left behind and the ravenous want that accompanies in with it, before sliding down again, easier this time, hitting the end with a bit more force, and she has a moment where she absolutely has to be imagining it, pleasure clouding her senses, because for a brief moment she had thought she’d seen a bulge push out from her stomach. She lifts herself again; it disappears. Experimentally, heated anticipation pulsing through her body, she lowers herself back down, watching in disbelief as it appears once more.

“Holy shit,” she hisses. She presses the palm of her hand to it and nearly chokes when she feels the outline of his head beneath, pressing him impossibly closer to already-sensitive nerve endings, and knocking the breath out of them both. “Holy _shit_ ,” she hisses again, as if it were the most thankful of prayers.

“I don’t- I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear like this before,” Garrosh teases, grinning at her with sharpened teeth and hooded eyes that gleam wetly in the dim light of the tent. Unable to put together a coherent response immediately, she impulsively snarls at him, which sends him into a stunned silence but also reddens the tips of his ears noticeably, eyes going wide. She grabs his hand and places it over her stomach where he has filled her to the brim and beyond, fucking herself on him. He chokes, hand gripping her thigh tight enough to bruise, and the other flush against her stomach, pressing them impossibly closer together.

He begins thrusting, shallowly at first, not wanting to hurt but not quite able to help himself, either, but it’s still enough to throw her off-balance, rhythm lost as searing pleasure derails her train of thought with every thrust into her. It’s very nearly too much- she’s too tender, still, from coming once already barely minutes before, and the stretch and fullness from then could not compare to now, pulled taut beyond her limit in one breath and sudden cavernous, ravenous emptiness in the next. Her hands scramble for purchase on his chest, it taking all she has not to just go boneless and collapse on him. He settles into a steady pace, thrusts becoming progressively harder and deeper, her cunt swallowing him to the hilt as he fills her over and over.

She’s. She’s not really aware of the sort of sounds she’s making at this point, in all honesty, but it must be something good, because every time a whine or whimper leave her mouth, he growls, fucks her harder, like he means to fuck them out of her. The slick grind of it, the push-and-pull of their bodies’ connection, drags her closer and closer to the edge, coiling tight at the base of her spine. Wildfire-heat rushes through her veins each time his hips meet hers, building up on itself until finally, orgasm wracks her body and she cries out. Garrosh follows shortly after, gasping as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Jaina, catching her breath, flops forward onto him without much ceremony, tucking her face into the side of his neck. The tender languidness returns once more, legs quivering passively as the last of the aftershocks work their way through her and she presses a kiss just under his ear. There would probably be some residual soreness later but for now, things were pretty alright. Garrosh breathes out slowly, reveling in the attention as their overheated bodies finally began to cool.

“You alright?” Jaina asks firstly, before the relaxed laziness can take over fully.

“Yes,” he replies, eyelids already slipping shut. “You?”

“Yes,” she echoes. “Though I do have question for you.” Garrosh tenses slightly.

“Go on,” he allows as amicably as he can.

“What does ‘amosh’e’ mean?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard that word before.” He tenses up a little more. “I mean, I recognize some of the syllables within it, but I’ve never heard them used in that sort of word structure before.”

“My heart,” he tells her, clearly embarrassed. “It. It means ‘my heart.’” Jaina props herself up on his chest again to look at him, her own heart thumping a little quicker than she’d like to admit. He won’t meet her gaze.

“I thought it was something like that,” she says, a peculiar sort of smile working its way onto her face. Garrosh doesn’t respond to that, brow furrowing as he stares at the tent’s adjacent wall. “There’s no need to be shy,” she continues, giving him another kiss. “I mean, it’s a bit of a moot point by now, given that up until about a minute ago you were literally inside me.” He’s trying not to laugh, now; she can see it in his face, like laughing means he loses whatever game they’re playing now.

“Would you like it if I called you that, too?” she asks him. Garrosh thinks for a moment.

“Yes,” he decides. Jaina grins against his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I am literally the gayest piece of shit to walk this earth tbh also there should be a smut epilogue I just don't know when b/c I'm very fussy about writing smut
> 
> EDIT: AND THE SMUT ENDING HAS ARRIVED HOLY FUCK


End file.
